He didn’t care. He’d never live there. The memories would be too disturbing. Not of Sean or Betty, but of Jennifer.
Jennifer, laughing. Jennifer, her face earnest as she confided a secret to him. Jennifer, weeping on those rare occasions when sadness overwhelmed her. Jennifer, angry at Harrison. They were almost always angry at Harrison together.
No, he couldn’t think of her. It was a habit he was going to have to learn somehow.
The minute he crossed into Scotland, he felt himself tensing. Perhaps it was a godsend that the journey was so difficult, requiring changing trains, being concerned about his baggage and carriage, and the sheer noise and belching soot he was subjected to, even in a first-class compartment.
Adaire Hall was far enough away that he didn’t have to worry about encountering anyone, yet he still found himself looking north.
He’d never been to Edinburgh. Five years ago when he’d left Adaire Hall, he’d headed south immediately, wanting away from everything that had reminded him of his upbringing.
Now he looked around him, feeling a sense of pride at what he saw. The city was crowded, but not as difficult to navigate as London. No doubt there were parts of Edinburgh that were less acceptable, but what he saw, from the castle on the hill to the prosperous homes and offices, was the equal of London architecture.
He should have come to the city before now. After all, he was a Scot and Edinburgh held the history of Scotland in her palm. He wondered if he should expand in Edinburgh. If he won his case, he’d be a Scottish peer. It made sense to come and live here.
He’d be too close to Adaire Hall, however.
The advocate’s office was in a redbrick building aged by soot. It possessed a minimum of windows and a maximum of pomp and ceremony. A doorman attired in scarlet livery greeted him at the door and bade him remain on the steps until his appointment had been verified.
A few minutes later, the door opened again, wider than before. Another man, dressed in a severe black suit, bowed slightly to him and invited him inside.
Gordon was immediately submersed in gloom.
He followed the man down a long corridor, then to the left. At the end of the hall was a window that barely lit the space.
The man hesitated midway down the hall and bowed again to Gordon before opening a door. He stepped to the center of the doorway, placed his gloved right hand on his chest, and intoned, “Mr. McDonnell to see you, sir.”
A moment later, he stepped to the side, motioning Gordon to enter.
He found himself in a dimly lit office. There was a row of windows behind the massive desk, but they were heavily curtained, and no one had thought to open them and allow a little brightness into the room. The only illumination was two gas sconces on either side of the room that gave off a weak yellow glow.
The man seated at the desk was probably thirty years older than Gordon. His hairline had receded, and the wispy strands across the top of his head were only a few months away from departing. His severely arched nose stood in relief, almost like a handle for the rest of his long face.
He stood, stared at Gordon, then abruptly sat once more. As a greeting it was unusual. Gordon didn’t know whether to announce himself again, stand there until the man regained his composure, or return the stare of the advocate, who was sitting there with his hands flat on his desk, wide eyes staring in Gordon’s direction.
Evidently, the man didn’t have new clients very often.
He strode forward, extending his hand. “My solicitor gave me your name and said that you might be able to help me, Mr. McNair.”
The man shook his head a few times, almost as if he were dislodging cobwebs.
“Of course, of course,” he said, standing again. The two of them shook hands before he gestured to a chair in front of his desk.
Gordon sat.
“I know Blackthorne well. A good man. I shall send him a letter thanking him for the referral.”
Was this Scottish advocate partial to drink? Had he imbibed his breakfast?
The outcome of this case wouldn’t rest on anything he did. Instead, it would be solely on his solicitor’s expertise as well as the letter of the law. Betty had taken his name and his parents. He was damned if Harrison was going to go the rest of his life